


Walk a Mile

by djinnj



Category: Daredevil (TV), Iron Fist (TV), Jessica Jones (TV), Luke Cage (TV), The Defenders (Marvel TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Depression, Fluff, Gen, Introspection, Mental Health Issues, No Plot/Plotless, Post-Canon, Slice of Life, best of all possible worlds, canon typical profanity, getting better, give him a hug, incidental dentistry, sad but working on it, the friends we made along the way - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-26
Updated: 2019-08-26
Packaged: 2020-09-24 08:44:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 15,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20355661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/djinnj/pseuds/djinnj
Summary: Matt and a whole lot of post-Daredevil conversations.Additional warnings: this fic contains non-explicit dental work and teeth problems, discussion of mental health, and there is a vague allusion to canonical suicidal ideation. There is also a near miss with an anxiety attack in the Karen chapter. This fic is very fluffy compared to canon, but all of the problems that exist in canon still exist here.All of the Netflix series are the universe of this fic, but it takes place before Punisher 2 and Jessica Jones 3. Frank is, sadly, not in this fic at all. The timing didn't work out.Prompt - One Foot by Fun. The prompt was terrific (actually, they all were) but the fic departs pretty significantly from the gist of the song, sorry.With thanks to my beta who helped me workshop ideas and gave me Sad Keanu. All mistakes are my own.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PixelByPixel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PixelByPixel/gifts).

Matthew Michael Murdock had had more opportunities than most to have reality punch him in the face. So that the latest was caused by rice and beans from Lazaro's was unanticipated. No one expects to break a tooth on takeout rice and beans, and the truth of the matter was that the tooth had cracked at some point earlier during a literal punch to the face. But it _announced_ itself during lunch by causing the entire left side of his face to feel like it was bathed in hellfire. As a person who had experienced being beaten, stabbed, and a building falling on him, he was quite sure that this was worse. 

Maggie was quite sure he was being dramatic and reminded him that the dental clinic was two blocks away from Lazaro's and that she would not hold it against him if he needed to cancel their lunch to be a grown-up. He grumbled something indistinct and carefully chewed on the other side of his mouth.

But he did call later that afternoon and that led to a cascade of appointments, both to have the specific tooth addressed and to have a checkup and a cleaning. And since this was the dental clinic that St. Agnes had always used and he had continued to go to after he aged out, he had to sit through his long-time hygienist's gentle concern over the state of his tartar buildup. 

There was no way he could explain to Angela that being unconscious and fed broth for three weeks does not lend itself to oral hygiene. He meekly accepted the new toothbrush, toothpaste, and floss, and vowed to use them faithfully.

He laid in a fresh box of baking soda and a package of his preferred floss and kept that promise as the weeks progressed and his dentist step by step rebuilt his tooth. Suffice it to say he had a lot of time to contemplate the state of his teeth and how he had let them get there. Not just stopping walls with his face and wearing out fists on his jaw, but knowing deep down that he had let himself go in too many respects. On the walk back to the interim offices of Nelson, Murdock, and Page, with a temporary crown and a follow up appointment in a few weeks, Matt resolved to do better, and to never let it get this bad again.

(Later he learned, after a quip about not brushing, that Maggie had done her best, wiping down his teeth and gums with peridex every day. And wasn't that just a kick in the pants.)


	2. Brett

Running the rooftops of Hell's Kitchen was a joy. The sure dance of one foot in front of the other and throwing his body into the void for an eternity experienced in an instant. Tucking into a roll that redirected his momentum to speeding forward again to the next breathless leap, it was the closest to flying Matt had ever come. In the freedom of the rooftops at night, alone with the groaning of ventilation turbines and the stink of tar paper, with the thrum of his pulse and the bellows of his lungs, something inside loosened. He sent his senses outward until the scant square mile of Hell's Kitchen filled his awareness in exquisite dimensionality, his place in it known to him down to his bones. 

There. Two blocks down, he had been running towards the man on the roof without having consciously registered him. He made a little extra effort to be quiet as he arrived at Bess Mahoney's building and, not to put too fine a point on it, snuck up on Brett.

"Did you need something, Detective?" Brett's heart leaped but he was mostly able to mask his startle reflex. Matt grinned.

"Do you have to do that?" Brett huffed at him. 

"Sorry, force of habit."

"Hm," the skepticism was palpable. "Word is there's a devil back on the prowl. So I guess this means you're really back. Not an encore performance, one night only kind of gig."

"I tried that. It didn't stick."

"Right." Brett's shoes grated as he turned and leaned against the parapet, facing him fully. "Thought you'd hung up the horns for good. You know, there were people who actually believed Poindexter was you? On the force, I mean."

"He had the suit; I can't blame them."

"I can. A friend of yours reminded me not that long ago to stick to what I know, not what I think I know, and anyone with two brain cells to rub together could tell that wasn't you in the suit. MO was all wrong, dropping bodies right and left, and his fighting style was completely different. Hell, my dry cleaner, the check out kid at D'Agostino's, and my own mother told me as much." 

That surprised a laugh out of Matt. "I guess I should be glad, or flattered maybe." Matt went and leaned against the parapet next to him, turning to face the same direction. A soft brush of wind flitted up the side of the building carrying with it the savory aroma of the chicken Bess was simmering in stock. The breeze tugged lightly at the tie to his mask.

"You know opinions- everybody's got one. But those cops won't be making detective any time soon" Brett paused and Matt could hear his mouth working, as if he needed to physically wrestle the words into order. "Look, I don't pretend to know how or why you do what you do, and Lord knows you've done what we couldn't more times than I like to contemplate. But however good you are at beating the shit out of people, I know damn well you're making mistakes." He paused, as if expecting protest.

"Vigilantism doesn't come with a rule book, but I know the law and I know justice doesn't always follow the law. I have to do what I can." 

"You're alone out there and this close to getting killed how many times? And I don't hear you denying the mistakes."

Matt sighed and pulled off his mask, feeling the breeze chill against his damp skin. "I can't; I've made too many and I'm not so blind that I can't admit to them." 

"You did not just-," Brett turned his face to the sky as if to beg for strength, but the tension of the moment was broken. 

"Look, I get it, Brett. I do. Just, there _isn't_ a rulebook and there isn't a yellow pages either. I'm working with what I've got, trying the best I can. Stopping didn't work; it came looking for me and I had to answer. And doing nothing else? That doesn't work either, I get that now. This, Daredevil, me, trying to make a difference and still make a life; it's a work in progress." 

"Lucky for you I have actual training, and, you know, _experience_. But what about some of those other people running around like Avengers-lite? Got to be some potential there." They were silent for a moment considering this before they both started to laugh. "Right, yeah. Can you imagine Jones agreeing to partner up? And I'm hearing some iffy stories about Luke Cage, or he'd be my first suggestion. There was some skinny kid running around last year with a glowing hand, but he's gone off somewhere. There's a new kid with a light up sword in Chinatown, and what the hell is my life that that's a thing. But she might be worth talking to. Rumor has it she's got connections on the force, too. Whatever, man, you know what I mean. I've got a whole precinct, hell, the whole NYPD for backup, just seems like you should have someone, too."

Matt took a deep breath and really thought about it.

"I've been on my own a lot; you get used to that sort of thing. People leave; they die or they have their own shit and can't take on yours, too. And they shouldn't have to. Whatever reason? They're gone, and you have to keep going, do the best you can. But it's been brought to my attention-," he paused and smiled ruefully. 

"Let me guess, Foggy." 

"Foggy, and others, but yeah mostly Foggy, have brought to my attention that maybe I'm a dumbass who's been going it alone when I don't have to. So, I'll work on it. I _am_ working on it. And I'll come to you with things you need to know and I hope you'll do the same." 

"Within reason. I'm still a cop and you're still a defense attorney vigilante." 

"Within reason, Detective." 

"Alright, I can live with that, I guess." Matt put his mask back on and bounced a little on his feet. "While you're at it, my mom wants a word with you. Says she hasn't seen you at the church volunteer nights in over a year and she has Expectations. The St. Agnes fundraiser is coming up, and I won't hear the end of it if you don't show." Matt laughed and threw himself off the roof, catching handholds on the way down to street level. "Call her, you lunatic!" Brett whisper-shouted after him before devolving into muttered cursing.

"I will!" He called up to him as he headed toward the escalating altercation in the 24hour laundromat several blocks away. 

(Later, on the strength of an expertly applied guilt trip and a tupperware full of chicken and dumplings, Bess got Matt to promise he would help out with the donations booth at the annual bazaar and with sorting and packing up donations the following day.)


	3. Foggy and Marci

Matt reached Marci's building in Murray Hill just as Foggy was approaching from the other direction with two fragrant bags of Thai takeout. 

"Matt! Perfect timing. What have you got there?" 

"German beer, bargain red, and that gin Marci likes." 

"Excellent, all bases covered. Well, once more into the breach, buddy!" They juggled bags as Foggy got them past the vestibule and into the elevator. "Are you ready for this?"

"I've faced down undead ninjas, how bad can it be?"

"That will never not be weird. But this is Marci we're talking about; I'm not sure I'd bet on the undead ninja in a fight, to be honest."

"Marci is definitely something." 

"Yeah, she is." The dreamy tone of satisfaction in Foggy's words made a laugh catch in the back of Matt's throat even as he braced himself when the elevator doors opened. Marci had not been shy about how unimpressed she was with his disappearance or his behavior to Foggy since his return, but this first visit to their apartment would be on a very different level now that Foggy had told her that he was Daredevil. 

"Honey, I'm home!" Foggy called as they walked in the door, "I bring sustenance and Matt!"

"Hi, Marci," Matt added quietly.

"Perfect. Foggy bear, can you check the bathroom sink? I think there's something wrong with it. Matt, it's good to see you again! Come in and make yourself at home." There was a bright brittle tone to Marci's voice, strung as tight as the tension in her shoulders.

"Right, and with that transparent pretext to get me out of the room, I'll go take a look at the bathroom sink." He handed off the takeout to Marci. "Don't eat all the curry puffs!" With an exaggerated shrug and incomprehensible facial gymnastics he backed out of the room and Matt was left alone with her. She started setting out the takeout containers on the open plan kitchen bar with an air of extreme skepticism. He wordlessly offered her the bag of drinks and she put it down with a thunk. 

"You know, he had recurring nightmares? Enough that we sorted them into categories. The whole time you were off playing dead, he blamed himself." One by one, she pulled the paper bags out of the plastic ones and started folding them into a neat pile. 

"I didn't know, but I'm sorry. None of this was ever Foggy's fault." She stuffed the bags into a cupboard, shutting it firmly. She turned and leaned her back against the counter, arms crossed, the bar between them. 

"I didn't get why he was so against talking to a therapist even if he wouldn't talk to me about it. I thought he was ashamed to admit something to me, but he was still protecting you. The whole time he kept your secrets even when he thought you were dead and past being hurt by them, even when telling someone could have helped him."

"You're right. I don't deserve him. I don't ever want to put him in that position again." Before Marci could reply, Foggy yelled from the bathroom _He's doing that thing again where he agrees with everything you say, isn't he?_ She huffed and uncrossed her arms. 

"Do better, Murdock; none of that brodependency bullshit. Get it together and be a better friend." She grabbed a handful of silverware from a drawer, shutting it with a rattle, before putting her hands on the edge of the counter and taking a deep breath. "Look, he loves you; live up to it."

"Absolutely. I promise."

"And none of this 'deserves' crap, either. Your self-esteem is seriously skewed." She pointed at him with the handful of forks. "As my therapist likes to say, put on your own oxygen mask before you help anyone else with theirs, or you'll both suffocate. Have you considered it? Because if anyone could use someone to talk to, it's you." 

"I have, I did. Father Lantom; we talked all the time; he always did his best for me even when I didn't make it easy." 

"Right, a priest is not exactly a mental health professional but I guess the purview overlaps. But what about since? It's been months; have you talked to the new priest?" 

"So, the post-it note on the faucet said five minutes, but I'm guessing this is a good time to rejoin this party because I was not eavesdropping at all." Foggy was looking back and forth between them like he was checking for injuries. Marci's annoyed sigh still managed to be fond. "Everyone good?" 

"Yeah, Foggy, we're good." Matt assured him.

"We're fine. Matt was just going to explain who he can talk to so he doesn't put an unfair burden on you but also gets the help he needs.

"Father de la Cruz is the new priest, but... no I haven't been talking with him." Marci's expectant silence was loud, and she elbowed Foggy when he showed signs of filling it himself. Matt fidgeted with the edge of the bar counter. "I haven't talked to him since the funeral. But..." They waited. "But I've been talking to Sister Maggie. We, ah, we have lunch sometimes."

"That's great, buddy!" 

"A nun."

"I, uh, I remember her from St. Agnes and, well, she's my mother." Marci's mouth clicked as she gasped. 

"Oh. Foggy, baby, get the glasses; we are going to need that wine. And you," she pointed at Matt. "You need so much therapy. But right now you are going to tell me everything." 

Matt chuckled a little and sat on a barstool as Foggy brought out wine glasses and Marci began opening containers. "I'll do my best," he said as he unscrewed the wine cap and started pouring.

(When Matt told Maggie about this later, she said _I like her._)


	4. Colleen

Despite all the time that had passed, Midland Circle was essentially a disaster zone with pretensions of being a construction site. The lot was surrounded with privacy fencing and the surface debris had been cleared but aside from a mobile office trailer, several half full dumpsters, and a lonely backhoe that had not moved within the last two months, there was not much evidence of work being done to reclaim the real estate. It was functionally abandoned during the day, so getting in under the cover of night was the work of a moment. Matt did not even have to climb the fence; one of the wooden slats was loose enough that he was able to pry it open with a low creak of the board. Avoiding the rusty nails, he slipped through.

He circled around the foundation and carefully picked his way to where he could sense the edge of the hole under tons of wreckage. He listened. 

He could hear the tunnel traffic and the drone of the tunnel ventilation turbines, the creak of the piers and the slap gurgle of the Hudson against ferry hulls and the Intrepid. He could hear the wind a few stories up wrapping around the buildings before dipping down to ruffle the tops of the trees and zing along the street signs. He could hear the buzz of street lights and business signage, the soft whir of security cameras and the doppler effect of car radios. The slam of a cab door and the low conversation of a couple walking up their apartment steps. The squeak of shoe rubber, the brush of cloth, and the jangle of keys in a lock. Televisions muted by apartment walls, the occasional microwave beeping and toilet flushing. Sleepy pigeons. He narrowed his focus and he could hear the rumble of the distant subway lines through the rebar and the near silent groan of the wreckage settling with temperature fluctuations within the shaft. He could hear rodents and roaches and silverfish moving along the beams and digging in the crumbled drywall. He could hear the drip of water and the eerie moan of air passing through small gaps in the debris. He could hear the hush of falling sand. He pushed himself further and heard the strange echoing storm drains, the grumbling of the sewer mains, and the deep arterial rush of the water supply tunnel. He stood there, feet planted and his hands loose at his sides, with his head tilted down and to the right a little, still except for his slow breaths, straining to hear everything. There was nothing to hear.

He eventually took a deep breath and shook his head ruefully. A jump and pull up to the roof of the office trailer and he surveyed the worksite from the new perspective. It did not tell him anything he did not already know, but the slight distance helped. He sat down and dangled his legs over the side, his face turned to where the elevator down had been. He had to clear his throat before he could speak.

"I miss you. I hear a step and it's your step, or smell that perfume and suddenly you're in the room. I can remember the fall of your hair against your shoulder exactly. And I know you're not there and I know it's impossible that you got out, but it was impossible that I got out and, well, here I am." He breathed for a long moment.

"I didn't realize how much worse it would be to lose you all over again. I was in pieces and without you it felt like there was no reason to try and make something of what was left. But I know what you would say to that; you always thought living for other people was a fool's trap. You were always braver than me." He huffed a damp laugh. "Even if I wasn't enough, even if you wanted to go, I just needed to know that you were still out there, somewhere, kicking ass and _living_. That would have been enough." He took a deep breath and blinked up at the sky for a long moment, his eyelashes moving damply against his mask.

"I miss you and I am so, so sorry I failed you again. I hope you've found peace at last."

He murmured a prayer for the repose of the soul on her behalf before getting lost in thought. He lost track of time as he sat there feeling empty but quiet. The creak of the loose board brought him back to himself and he tilted his head when he realized who was walking toward him.

"Hey, okay if I come up?" 

He shrugged and let his senses paint the picture of Colleen's running start, the light three point jump that made contact with the side of one dumpster, then another, and then up onto the lip of the first again, then a few dancing steps forward along the edge and the hop up onto the roof of the trailer. She landed softly and walked over to drop down next to him, the scabbard on her back tapping against the roof as she knocked her heels a little against the aluminum siding.

"You know, I was going to yell at you for what you said to Danny. He really took it to heart, and thinking you had given him some sacred trust after he'd already failed at one? He didn't need that." Matt winced.

"I should apologize to him. It wasn't fair." 

"Damn straight it wasn't fair. But good luck finding him. He's somewhere in Asia chasing ghosts; I think he's in Malaysia this week, or maybe Singapore.

"So, why spare me?"

"Hm, you sitting here like sad Keanu for over an hour." He turned to face her, tilting his head expectantly. "I've got a camera over there," she nodded at the side of the nearest building where he had clocked a security camera earlier. "It covers the whole lot. Wanted to make sure I'd know if any leftover Hand soldiers came sniffing around. Instead I got you. You're sitting in a shadow, but that whole statue routine? That was way out in the open. I made an educated guess."

"Right." His mouth twisted ruefully. "Well, I'm grateful." They were quiet for a long moment before she spoke again.

"Okay and maybe I get it a little, too. The whole protecting the city thing. And Danny needed a purpose, so it wasn't a total loss. Just, don't do it again, alright?"

"No more dramatic last words playing on the emotions of the recipient before dying. Got it." She rolled her eyes so hard he could hear them. 

"Yeah, and maybe don't do that again, either. For some reason, people like you. Speaking of, you should talk to Claire. I get why you didn't tell her you were alive during that whole murdery fake Daredevil thing, but letting her think you were dead and then not checking in once everyone knew you were back anyway? Not cool."

"Shit." 

"Uh huh. You made her cry. And then she said a lot of very angry things in Spanish, which, I don't speak, but they sounded impressive."

"She's mad."

"Glad, mad, and hurt." 

"Shit."

"Right, my work here is done. I've got everything south of Houston, Luke's got everything north of 114th. I'm guessing you're sticking with Hell's Kitchen and Midtown-ish. I'm around if something big happens; don't be a stranger." With that she pushed off the trailer, absorbing the drop effortlessly in a deep crouch. She made for the exit, throwing up a hand to wave at him before she eeled back through the gap in the fencing. 

"Huh." 

(Later, when he related this encounter, he would ask if they had ever been so young. _She was exhausting, Foggy. It wasn't even anything she said; she just_ was. _3am and she had so much energy. When did we get old?_ To which Foggy replied _Speak for yourself. I am a spry young fellow who scoffs at 3am._ To which Karen replied _Didn't Marci say you voluntarily go to sleep before ten on the regular?_ To which Foggy answered _Slander and calumny! Only Mondays through Wednesdays!_)


	5. Foggy and Maggie

The smell of institutional cleansers, Murphy's oil soap, and beeswax was familiar on a visceral level, but when Matt counted the steps in the hallway to St Agnes' refectory he was caught up short when they reached the doorway before he had finished his count. Foggy nudged his arm. 

"You alright there?"

"Uh, yeah. The infirmary is on the other side of the building. I haven't been this way since I aged out; it's different."

"Good different or bad different?"

"Neither, just different. We shouldn't keep her waiting." Maggie had heard them lurking in the hallway and already put down the mug she had been holding. When they walked in she stood up from the table and came over to them. "Foggy Nelson, Sister Maggie Grace." 

"No need to be so formal, Matthew; we've met. Although I'm glad to see you again under better circumstances, Foggy. Come in. Coffee?"

"Uh, yeah, sure, that would be great. I'm… not entirely sure how I should address you." Matt moved aside to the coffee pot unasked and started preparing two mugs as she went back to the table.

She sat down and picked up her mug, and then set it down again."'Maggie' is fine, that's what Matthew calls me, or 'Sister Maggie' if that makes you uncomfortable. Please sit, you've been a good friend to Matthew and I've been looking forward to getting to know you. I hear congratulations are in order." Matt handed Foggy his mug and sat down next to him, across from her. 

"Ah, yeah! Yeah, I just got engaged, thank you!"

"And your fiancée, is she really alright with all this?"

"Oh, Marci, she was taken aback when I told her, of course, but she's phenomenal."

"She really is," Matt interjected. "She's a lot more forgiving than I had any right to expect."

"So," Foggy set his hands on the table and leaned forward in his best _I'm confiding in you, trust me, I'm telling you a secret that will get me what I want_ mode. "I have to admit to an ulterior motive for this visit." Matt straightened, suddenly nervous.

"Oh?"

"Yes. This guy," he jerked his thumb at Matt, "has been hearing embarrassing stories about me from my family for years while being altogether too clam-like with the reciprocal humiliation. I'm hoping to level the playing field. In exchange, I have a wealth of undergrad and law school-" 

"Oh no," Matt groaned.

"Hush you, law school anecdotes."

"Well, Foggy. You make a very compelling offer." Maggie hedged. "But, I don't know if I have anything that would be of matching value to you." Matt blinked; that was patently untrue. 

"No, you must! Adorable half-sized Matt Murdock must have gotten into trouble sometime!"

"Nope, model of decorum at all times, Foggy." Foggy looked back and forth between Matt and his mother. 

"I can't tell if you're telling the truth or not." He protested. "Isn't lying a sin?! Come on, at least tell me how he got hooked on Thurgood Marshall!" 

Maggie's heart sped up and her voice was more subdued when she replied. "I'm afraid I don't know that story. Matthew was already an enthusiast when he joined us."

"Way to bring down the room, Nelson." Foggy berated himself.

Matt cleared his throat. "You can blame the deficiencies of the New York Public Library interlibrary loan system." 

"Really," Maggie said, her heart rate slowing as she perked up. 

"Well, braille's expensive, you know, and it takes up a lot of space. But I needed to practice and there wasn't much else for me to do. Dad took me to the branch library whenever I wanted but it didn't have a big selection of books for my age and interlibrary loan could take weeks. I was going through books faster than they could get new ones in. Someone, I don't know who, had donated a bunch of books from a private collection so I gave them a shot when I ran out of other things to read. The Marshall resonated, I guess." 

"That is disgustingly typical, you overachiever." Foggy scoffed. "I can just imagine half-pint you and a giant book. It would look a lot like full pint you, I'm guessing. Only adorable. "

"Lucky for me, you'll just have to imagine my unfortunate haircut. Dad had an album but it's gone now. Which I suppose has the unforeseen benefit of protecting kid me's dignity."

"Actually, I think I can help, or maybe not help, with that." If Matt had thought Maggie sounded hesitant before, this was a whole new level. Stress indicators were red flagging all over the place as she stood. "Wait just a moment, if you would. I need to get something from my room." She all but fled.

"Okay, that was not at all strange. This took a weird turn; you hanging in there?"

"I'm fine, but I think.... So, I was kind of angry when I was a kid."

"Hate to tell you buddy, but that would surprise absolutely no one."

"After Stick left, I acted out a lot. I got into fights, talked back, and was generally an insolent little shit."

"I knew it! Wait, language!" 

Matt huffed a laugh and relaxed his shoulders. "You should have heard us kids when I was living here. Anyway, so, one day was really bad. I don't even remember why, I just remember being so angry, so frustrated. And I didn't have a lot of things from Dad; we didn't have a lot of sentimental objects you know. But he always used to take pictures of stuff I did and birthdays and things and keep an album. After he was killed, I don't know why I had the thing. It's not like I could look at the pictures, but I guess whoever was packing up his stuff assumed I would want it." Matt swallowed, connecting dots he had not thought about in years.

"Oh, right." 

"Anyway, I was pissed off one day and being a real pain in the ass, and I just got angrier and angrier about the photo album. It was like it was insult to injury, reminding me of everything I'd lost. So, I threw it out. The trash got emptied a few days later and it was gone. I haven't really thought about it since. Like I said, it didn't matter to me."

"But, didn't you ever think, I don't know, that your kids might like to see what you looked like when you were little? Or their grandad or whatever?

"No? I was thirteen and Stick had already done his best to teach me asshole individualism. By the time I had someone serious where I might have regretted it, it was just another fact of life." He turned to face the quick footsteps hurrying down the hallway. "But I guess some things do come back around again."

Maggie faltered in her forward momentum dropping to a more appropriate pace. She laid a stack of two thick albums on the table. They smelled strongly of vinyl, but the top one held just a hint of the same scent that lingered in the corners of the trunk in his apartment. 

"It's yours, if you want it." She pushed it across the table to him and then pulled her hands back, clasping them together tightly. He opened it at random. It creaked and released the scent of old prints permeated with faint traces of the past, the brittle cellophane holding newer memories of beeswax and hand lotion. He ran his hand down the page feeling the edges of the prints through the plastic before shaking his head and closing the cover. He pushed it back across the table.

"No. I think it's in good hands. But, Foggy, if you want to look, now's your chance. You can see my tragic childhood haircut." Maggie's heart slowed and her grip loosened.

"So tempting, but is no one going to ask about the other album? Because if no one else is going to say something, I volunteer."

There was a laugh in Maggie's voice as she pushed it into the middle of the table in turn. "It's a scrapbook." She opened it to a page near the front and the scent of crayon wax and construction paper wafted up. "Jack used to send photos, the occasional drawing or school assignment. He was so proud." 

"Is that Cooler and _Nose Marie?_ This is terrific!" 

Matt touched the page lightly, feeling the smooth ridges and flakes of wax and the coarse pulp of the paper. "I forgot about that! I was obsessed with the Pound Puppies when I was little. But…' He flipped to the back of the album where he could smell newsprint. "What are these?"

"Oh hey, these are articles about James v. NYCT. All the _Bulletin_ coverage, the _Daily News_ Endexoprene exposé, and that one that was in the _Times_." 

"I kept up with it." Maggie said. "You know how strong a force of habit can be. Now, I'm sure Foggy would like to look at the albums but that doesn't mean I can't tell you boys some stories about Jack at the same time. If you'd like."

Matt rubbed his nose and smiled. "Yeah, I'd like that."

(Later, when Matt walked Foggy to his subway stop he mentioned how Maggie liked to say he was just like his Dad, not always as a compliment. Foggy was thoughtful for a long moment before he elbowed his arm and said _The apple doesn't fall far from the tree._ Then he gave him a hug and jogged down the steps for his train. Matt grinned all the way back to his apartment.)


	6. Luke

Matt was listening in on a fight brewing between two guys who had seriously miscalculated the political leanings of the bar they had gotten drunk in, and the entire rest of the bar, when a very specific arrangement of biometrics entered his awareness. The expensive clothes and the high end leather shoes were new, but everything else was unmistakable. When the strong, steady heartbeat drew near he dropped down to the mouth of the alley to meet it.

"You're a little outside your beat, aren't you?"

"Took the night off." Luke nodded toward the fight down the street that had just escalated out onto the sidewalk. "You going to do anything about that?"

"No, I think they have it in hand. Two 'identitarians' had the bright idea of getting smashed in Hell's Kitchen. The locals are just helping them out. And anyway, the bartender already called the cops." A patrol car turned the corner at that moment, pulsing its rumbler siren a couple times and proving his point. 

"Oh, well then good riddance." 

"So, what brings you to Hell's Kitchen? Word on the street has it you got a promotion."

"Yeah, you could call it that. But I came to see you. You make a lot of noise for a dead man." 

"Not my intention, but fate has a way."

"I know what you mean. So are you back for real?" Luke tucked his hands in his pockets and leaned against the wall, apparently unconcerned with the rasp of concrete against fine wool.

"I mean to be."

"Retired the suit, though. You're not suddenly bulletproof too, are you?"

"It was always a symbol, but it stopped being what I wanted to say. And after Poindexter, it'll always be the face of a murderer and terrorizer of innocents. It can't be what keeps people safe, not anymore."

"You are going to end up full of holes. Get your guy to make you something else, then."

"He's back in prison and I don't think he'd want to have anything to do with me even if he wasn't. It's my fault he's there. No, the old look works well enough for me. I'm trying to fight smarter instead of harder and let the police do their share." He tilted his head toward the two uniformed officers taking statements. 

"Damn, man. Well, I just came to see for myself and to tell you I have resources now, if something like last time happens."

"Is that working? Making Harlem neutral territory?"

"I think so. So far. People need room to breathe, you know? To feel safe. It's a hard living without that, and it makes for hard people or dead people."

"I get that. But letting them co-exist? I'm not sure I could do that." 

"I was reminded that I have a lot more people I care about keeping alive than they do, and that power vacuums don't stay empty for long. It's a balancing act. Smarter, not harder, right?" Luke tapped his arm with a solid but gentle fist. "Look, I'm going to get out of your hair so you can go back to lurking on rooftops. Just, remember there's a friend up in Harlem if you need some backup. It's good to see you back in the land of the living; I'd like to keep it that way."

"Thanks, Luke. Same." They shook, Luke's hand engulfing Matt's rope-wrapped one. Then Luke shot his cuffs, checked the pedestrian traffic, and briskly headed off to the subway.

(The next day Matt complained that vigilantes were really bad about giving out their contact information. _They're all cool and smooth saying to let them know if you need help, but they don't leave any way to reach them. It's not like I can just walk into a jazz club as Daredevil._ Foggy and Karen looked at each other. _He's unlisted!_ Karen coughed and said _That must be really frustrating. We sure don't know anyone else who would be so thoughtless._ Matt spluttered _That was different! I was right here! Ugh, okay, okay, we suck._ Foggy waited until later in the day to tell him he had Luke's personal number.)


	7. Claire

One side effect of being able to track the subway lines was knowing when the trains were arriving without having to enter the station. That did not mitigate the unpleasantness of having to travel by subway, but at least Matt could avoid having to stand on the platform for longer than absolutely necessary. And he never missed a train.

The evening rush had thinned to manageable levels and the press of humanity was comfortable instead of purgatorial. The most notable passenger in his car was a woman carrying what appeared to be a corgi in a backpack. Matt was amused that the dog would yawn into her ear and then the woman would yawn immediately after. A few minutes would pass and then they would do it again. This continued until they got off at Columbus Circle. The ride was uneventful after that.

Taking his bearings outside the station, Matt made his way into St. Nicholas Park following the sound of barking. Soon he picked up the faint scent of shea butter and Eucerin hand lotion. He tapped his way down the path to where she was watching the dogs in the dog run enjoying an evening romp. She turned as he came up to her, her arms crossed.

"Matt." He fidgeted with his cane.

"Hi Claire." Her hair brushed her shoulders as she shook her head and the only warning he had was the shift in her stance before she punched him in the shoulder hard and then grabbed him into a tight hug.

"You are an absolute miserable jerk, you know that?" She muttered tearfully into his collar.

"Yeah," he murmured a little shakily, wrapping his arms around her, "I know. I'm sorry."

They held on for a long moment before she let him go and smoothed down the front of his suit a little, then she sniffed and stepped back. "Well, you look good for someone who was dead." She paused, "Wait, you weren't dead, were you? Foggy just said you were back and wanted to meet and wouldn't really explain anything else." 

"No, not really. I was in bad shape for a long time but not actually dead."

"Good." She considered him for a moment. "I have lots of questions, but they all boil down to 'what the hell happened?' With a side of 'what the hell were you thinking?'" 

"That's a long story. You might want to sit down for this." He gestured to a park bench.

"You know what, I have a better idea. Walk with me." She tucked his arm through hers and turned them back in the direction he had come from. They set a comfortable pace and walked in silence for a bit.

"Where do you want me to start?"

"It's a little too public for the kind of talk I want to have; let's wait until we get where we're going."

"That doesn't sound ominous at all. Where are we going?"

"You'll see soon enough. Here, let's cross." They passed the downtown bound subway entrance and crossed St Nicholas Avenue. "137th Street, super convenient to the A, we're going to cross two more streets: Edgecombe right here, and Frederick Douglass." Matt spread his senses a little to fix the local landmarks into his mental map. If Claire wanted to make sure he could find this place again, he would take the hint. 

"So, I've been thinking about everything, all the weirdness that's happened since I pulled you out of my dumpster, not just to you but to everyone I've met with abilities. And I keep getting pulled outside my comfort zone, which, okay, I let that happen. But I keep getting pulled outside my skillset and end up just reacting to things. There's nothing to hold onto in a life like that." She sighed ruefully. 

"I'm no good at being sidekick number three and frankly anyone who can take orders and throw a punch would be better at it than me. So I thought, what am I good at, what is needed, and what do I want to do." They stopped outside a storefront with big glass double doors and the distinctive smell of industrial disinfectant. "I don't know what you know about what happened with Luke and the Stokes and everything, but I had to take a break from what my place in it had become and re-evaluate. And when I got back, going back to that wasn't an option. I gave Danny a call," she laughed a little, "Or really I gave Colleen a call who gave his assistant a call who gave Ward Meachum's assistant a call who got me on skype to some internet cafe in Ulaanbaatar at 8am. And this? This is what I chose for myself." 

She pushed the door open and led him through a waiting room with a few people reading magazines or playing on their phones and then through another door into a hallway past the reception area. "The clinic has three exam rooms, top of the line equipment, and a schedule of specialists who come in a couple times a week each for consults. I'm the only one here full time aside from the office manager, but we have a full complement who come in for appointments and walk-ins. And we work with insurance coverage and have a sliding rate based on income so no one leaves here having to pay more than they can afford." She led him into a small office in the back and closed the door, gesturing for him to take a seat. 

"This is remarkable. What you're doing here is amazing."

"None of it would be possible without Danny's money and the Rand Memorial Hospital Foundation, but he's happy to foot the bill and my pride does not have a problem with that. But there's an unexpected development. You know Luke locked down Harlem like Switzerland, right?" 

He nodded. "Organized crime goes elsewhere for their felonies or faces the consequences. I'm not sure I agree with his choices but I can appreciate the results."

"He's following a tradition that started in a single barbershop. I don't know if it can survive scaling up, but that's our situation. And even if the two of us are not talking right now, I have this clinic in a part of the city where any murdery shit is absolutely going to call down the wrath of Harlem's Hero. You can see where this is going, right?"

"How often do you have members of opposing gangs sitting in your waiting room with broken bones they gave each other outside the boundaries?"

"About the same rate as sprained ankles. As long as they keep their hands to themselves while they're here, I'm okay with it. But I don't see why I can't take care of friends while I'm at it." She handed him a card. "That's a card for the clinic with the address. Put that somewhere safe in case you need to give it to someone to get here." She handed him another card with a braille sticker attached to it. "That one has my cell; Foggy said you lost your contacts list, and this way you can put it in your burners." He curled his fingers around the cards and swallowed.

"There's an alley entrance and electronic surveillance but I have the codes. If you call ahead, I can make sure it's clear and no one will see you on the premises. The clinic isn't close to you but it's a damn sight better than the three rolls of gauze and a styptic pencil that live in that seriously inadequate first aid kit of yours."

"It was my Dad's." Matt had to clear his throat. "Claire, I can't even say how grateful I am. I know you didn't want any of my crap. Here I am being the absolute worst friend and the first thing you do when you see me again is offer to help. I didn't come here for favors; I wanted to try and make things up to you."

"Yeah, well, I left first, and then like an idiot I got right back into it again. Which crashed and burned spectacularly in its own time. So now apparently this is how I cope. And I don't, I really don't, want to think I could have done something 'if only', you know? Looking on helplessly sucks."

"I promise I won't let it go that far again. And if it helps, I have someone I can go to in Hell's Kitchen who has some medical training and she's eager to knock some sense into my head. So when I call, it'll be because I want to talk to you and not because I need something. You were right way back in the beginning and things would have been so different if I had only listened to you. Maybe not the outcomes, but the way I got to them? Definitely. So this is long past due, but I'm listening now and I'm working at it."

She slid her hand across the table and he took it, her calloused fingers and his scarred knuckles pressed together tightly. Then she pulled away and leaned back in her chair, the tension bleeding out of her shoulders and a smile in her voice. "She? Well that's a relief; someone has to get through that thick skull of yours. But who is she?"

"That part of the story actually starts before I was born."

(Their talk ran long and they outstayed the rest of the staff. They ended up getting a pizza and some beer, returning to spread out in the clinic break room. When Claire learned the extent of his injuries and recovery, she booted up the scheduling software and pressed him to take advantage of their diagnostic equipment. When he left he had several appointments on his calendar and a date to meet for platonic coffee in the near future.)


	8. Danny

The second time Matt visited Midland Circle he walked directly to the mobile office trailer and climbed up to sit on the edge. He pressed his palms down to feel the wraps of his ropes against the metal flashing.

"I've been confronting my ego, lately, at least the part that says I'm the one who has to save everyone, the part that's been saying it's my fault you died, twice. I never noticed before that it speaks in Stick's words. I thought it was Fisk but I was just projecting Stick onto a convenient mannequin so I could think I was past him. You'd tell me it was obvious, and it is, now that I've noticed."

"I envy Luke his compromise. It's smart, practical, and I hate it. But how much of that is me being unreasonable, Stick whispering in my ear about root and branch and damn the impossible task and collateral losses? People are walking down the street at night safe, and that is a tangible good."

"And then there's the part that wonders if I'm jealous because he's doing my job better than me." He sighed. "So I'm a work in progress; sometimes there's less progress than others. I could use your clarity." He paused for a long moment, listening to a stray cat walk along the top of the privacy fencing. It jumped into an adjacent tree and settled in to groom.

"I hate him so much for what he did to me and to you, but I still wish you hadn't killed him." He fell silent and decided to try meditating.

The sound of throat singing heavy metal pulled him out of his meditative state some time later. Danny skirted around the debris and joined him on the roof, turning off the music and pulling out his earbuds as he sat down.

"I thought you were out of town," Matt said.

"A little dragon told me you were alive and I wanted to see for myself. We're going back in a couple days once Ward signs a bunch of things. I didn't realize how much business could be done through express shipping documents, but Ward says it's still important to show your face sometimes."

"Does Colleen know you call her that?" Danny's sudden intake of breath told him everything he needed to know.

"No, and don't tell her! She's mad enough at me as it is!"

"Your secret is safe with me. I owe you one, after all. You took care of the city for me. It wasn't right of me to put that on you, but by all accounts you did a good job. I'm sorry, and thank you."

"Hey, I'm a protector, that's what Iron Fists do. You didn't put anything on me I didn't want to accept. Although Colleen has the Fist now, and she's better at it than I was. More disciplined; less distracted."

"She's impressive."

"Yeah, she is. In the end it was a good thing my brother stole the Fist from me and we stole it back for her." Matt tried to unpack that sentence but could not think of a single sensible thing to say in response. "We were sure no one could survive the building collapse. Do you think the bones had something to do with you getting out? Maybe all that bone dust gave you something, I don't know, extra? Have you tried to channel your chi?" Matt scoffed.

"No, nothing extra. If you saw me after, you wouldn't think that. I was half dead for months, blind and deaf for longer than that." He huffed a laugh. "No, if there was some mystical power keeping me alive, it wasn't healing dragon bones. Stubbornness, maybe, or bad attitude. No magic."

Danny made an unconvinced sound but did not press. He chatted on for a while about how interesting it was traveling through Asia without relying on mendicant traditions and how he had not realized that tourists would abuse that hospitality when he had passed through before.

Matt listened idly until curiosity proved too strong. "Why are you carrying guns?" He asked.

(The next day Matt got a little worked up describing the meeting. _He has two glowing fists now, and guns. Guns! It was bad enough when he had just the one fist and no impulse control!_ Foggy turned to Karen and said _Little did I know that getting Matt to open up about his nightly excursions would lead to this much whining._ Karen laughed and said _I know, it's very revealing!_ Matt replied _I can go back to keeping it all a secret if you like?_ But Foggy waved his hands emphatically and said _Oh no. No, no, no, this is fantastic. It's the Real Vigilantes of New York. I haven't been this entertained since Parks and Rec finished._)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Danny's music https://youtu.be/v4xZUr0BEfE


	9. Jessica

Matt was walking up 9th Avenue on his way home from dinner when he heard a familiar voice ordering a pitcher of Rudy's Red, the four free hotdogs that came with it, and one glass. He hesitated for a moment, but she was alone at the bar, so he went in. The music was just on the edge of too loud for normal people. 

"Murdock," she said as he gestured toward the barstool next to her. "Be my guest."

"Jones," he replied, collapsing his cane and loosening his tie as he sat down.

"What'll you have?" the bartender asked and he pulled out his wallet, feeling the bills.

"A pint of the red, thank you. Keep the change." Matt took out a folded $5 and passed it over. 

"Want a hotdog?" The bartender asked. 

"Uh, n-" He started.

"Yes," Jessica interrupted. 

"Yes, thank you," he finished, accepting his pint. He pushed the hotdog toward Jessica when it was set down and she added it to her own paper plate, stacking the empty one under it.

"Congratulations on not being dead," she said through a large mouthful. Matt wondered if she had ever considered participating in the Nathan's hot dog eating contest and if that would be considered cheating by a powered person.

"Thank you, it's a low bar but I'm glad to have managed it."

"So to what do I owe the pleasure?" 

"Somehow I've talked to just about everyone from, you know, except you. I thought I'd take the opportunity to say 'hello, I'm back, and I'm sorry about how things ended."

"Yeah, that was dumb. Don't do that again. Although…" and she paused for a long gulp of beer, draining her glass and refilling it. "I may have new insight into why someone would do a boneheaded thing like give up everything to try and bring someone back who doesn't want it."

"I'm sorry. That's not the kind of experience I would wish on anyone. Do you want to talk about it?"

"My mother was a murdering psychopath who wasn't actually dead all these years. Of course I don't want to talk about it." The sarcasm was thick in her voice, but so was the pain. And she was lying about not wanting to talk about it. He was not sure she even realized how much of a lie that was.

"You've met my ex, who am I to judge?" He paused, and then decided it was worth it. "My mother is a nun." She choked a little on the last inch of beer in her glass, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

"Jesus, Murdock!"

"She's a nun at the orphanage. She never told me; never planned to tell me. I learned it by accident." She was gaping at him now. 

"Well, fuck. Are you going to drink that?" When he shook his head, she drained his untouched pint and burped. "Right, if we're doing this, I need something stronger than beer. C'mon." 

They stopped at the bodega near her apartment for two bottles of Wild Turkey and a bag of Goldenberg peanut chews. When he tilted his head at her, she shrugged and said. "Dessert."

(Matt was slightly hungover the next morning, only saved from disaster by Jessica having consumed most of the bourbon herself. Despite this, he got up early and stopped by St. Agnes'. When he found Maggie, he asked her if they could try a hug. She agreed. After a moment with their arms around each other, he said _This is weird, isn't it?_ and she said _It's a bit awkward._ They shuffled stiffly apart and she said _We can try something else? Until we find something that feels right?_ He agreed and tried to look like he was not fleeing the scene as he left for work.)


	10. Karen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning: slight anxiety attack that stops before it really gets started.

The third time Matt visited Midland Circle, it was misting lightly. He walked to the edge of the shaft but did not linger except to turn to where the camera still whirred and nod in acknowledgement. 

Water was beading up on the fabric of his mask, flicking off the ties as he jumped for the edge of the mobile office trailer and pulled himself up. A thin layer of water was clinging to the surfaces and had begun to collect in irregularities of the flat roof, but he found a spot on the edge that was merely damp and dropped down to sit.

"It amazes me sometimes when I realize that we had so little actual time together; that we lived lifetimes in the minutes. I think about it sometimes, what it would be like if you made it through the first time with Nobu, and we ran away together. Or this time, if we'd both made it out and had the chance to really be together. And it's wonderful, exhilarating, and heartbreaking. We'd have burned each other up and left nothing but ashes, each one of us alone. And I think 'worth it;' it would have been worth it! But you didn't make it out, and you're not here, and I'm learning who I can be without you."

"You made me feel whole in my skin like no one else, and I miss you like oxygen. But what does it say about me that I knew myself best when we were fighting?"

"I don't know yet what I can really be, the lawyer _and_ the vigilante, the friend _and_ the fighter. God, that sounds so stupid." He took a deep breath. "I'm just waiting for the next crisis when this all comes crashing down. But Elektra, I know I don't want to run anymore." 

He slipped down off the trailer and made his way out, finding a convenient fire escape to make his way back to the rooftops. It was a familiar rhythm, crossing each block, skimming down into the alleys and side streets, waiting sometimes for the road to clear before flitting across like a shadow and then up again onto the next rooftop. The city was as quiet as it ever got, nothing out of place. He found the correct window of the correct building and tapped lightly on the frame.

"I don't think this window will open all the way," Karen said, after unlatching it and pushing it up a couple inches. She shoved at it hard. "Nope, there are screws blocking it. Did you need something?"

"Just wanted to talk, if you're not busy."

"Well, my case seems to have settled in for the night. I was just going to wrap up here so I think I can manage a conversation. Won't be too comfortable talking through a window, though. A bit too much like prison, or the bank." 

He chuckled. "Neither are associations I want. Can you open the roof access for me?" 

"What about the alarm?"

"It's been out of service for a while. No electricity running through the wires."

"Oh, right. That's not disturbing at all. Okay, I'll meet you up there." 

He climbed his way up to the roof, exercising a little extra care because of the damp, and waited. She opened the door with a muted clang of the press-bar, and he slid past her into the hallway listening for anyone wandering around. It was clear, the usual sounds of a budget hotel all safely behind closed doors. 

The room had two twin beds about eighteen inches apart, the one by the near window spread over with her notes. It was cramped but clean, and a chair was wedged into the narrow gap between the bed and the window. She had a small camera clamped to the back, pointing out. The camera was hooked up to her laptop that was open on the seat of the chair. She walked over to close the other window before she sat down on the paper-strewn bed and waved him over to the other one. 

"You want a towel?"

"No, I'm not that wet." He pulled off his mask and draped it over the tiny nightstand between the beds before fluffing his hair a little. The rope around his hands caught at the strands, but it was alright if he used only his fingertips.

"So, what did you want to talk about?" Karen leaned back on her palms, stretching out a foot and nudging his shin where he was still standing between the beds. He sat down and tested the bounce a little. It was surprisingly good, and thankfully the hotel did not have bedbugs.

"Do you ever get the feeling like, everything is great but it's just waiting to blow up?"

"All the time. I choose to repress it as much as possible."

"So that's normal, right? Not paranoia?"

"I think it's anxiety, actually. But it's not paranoia if they're really out to get you."

"The Hand are gone and according to Danny so are the Chaste. Stick's dead. Gao's heroin business moved to Chinatown and Colleen said it hasn't recovered since she was killed. Vanessa, maybe, if she decides it's worth the risk and tries to take us out while her husband's in prison."

"She might but taking us out doesn't get him out, and that would be her first priority. She has to consolidate a lot more power before she tries something and that's bound to raise red flags."

"True."

"According to my contacts on the force, organized crime is keeping their heads down for the moment, avoiding the extra scrutiny post-Fisk. The Kitchen Irish haven't regrouped; they took too many losses. The gangs in general seem quiet, and they aren't after you or me _per se_. The only ones I really worry about are the ones where it's personal, and that's Fisk."

"And Poindexter, but Fisk broke his back and he's in rehabilitation. And even then he doesn't have the connections to pull strings from behind bars. Everything I've been hearing checks out with what you've found out." He took a deep breath. "So, I should relax." 

"You know it doesn't work that way." She watched him fidget with his wraps, easing some slack out of a strand of the rope and working it to a better spot. "Are you sure that's what this is about?"

"What else would it be?"

"Matt, you practically died. Now you're back like nothing's changed? Are you really surprised?"

"But everything _has_ changed! And things are good, really good. I've got you and Foggy, Maggie and Claire in my corner. Hell, Jess and I got drunk together the other night and told bad jokes about zombies for twenty minutes! And I don't know how it happened, but now there's this whole network across the city, so I don't have to scramble to keep track of everything. Like you said, you have contacts. Luke has contacts! Colleen, Claire, everyone has their ears to the ground keeping track of what's wrong and it's good! It's really good and I don't have to do this alone!" She grabbed his shoulders and held him for a moment.

"Hey, hey, no, Matt. C'mon." He flattened his hands against his thighs and gasped, as she rubbed her hands up and down his arms.

"It's ridiculous; I'm ridiculous. You're right, you're right, everything is fine." He took a deep breath and let it out slowly and then smiled. "I'm just... tired, flinching at echoes." She slowly let him go and sat back.

"Okay… Look, I'm out of my depth, but this right here? I think that's what's got you so stressed out."

"What? No."

"You melt down the minute we start talking about how good things are going? I don't have to have a psych degree to see the giant road flare you just set off."

"Great, so this is why I can't have nice things. You think I'm sabotaging myself." She scoffed at him.

"Quit the sarcasm; and no, you big dummy. I think you're afraid it'll all go away."

"No, I'm not."

"Really?"

"I tried to push you and Foggy away for how long? I stole his identity and used it to break into a prison and he still made me his best man. For whatever reason, you two keep letting me stick around. So, no, I'm not."

"Didn't we already say that's not how all this works?" She felt her way around the rope on the curl of his hand, trying to find a way to hold his hand and not his fist when interlacing their fingers was not an option. "Look, maybe you should talk to someone. Call NYCWell or something."

"Marci thinks I need therapy." 

"Well, maybe you do, maybe you don't. But something's going on here, Matt, and it's not something you can punch."

"How do I explain this to a therapist. Duty of confidentiality is all well and good, but we all know I'd fall under the Accords which have no due process."

"You could lie? Alright, alright, I know, that's a terrible idea. Okay, but what about the new priest?"

"Father de la Cruz. Shit, alright. I'll think about it."

"Good. Is it quiet tonight?"

"Yeah, it is."

"Then go change and meet me at Josie's in twenty minutes. I need a drink and you're buying."

(At Josie's, Karen made Matt share all the zombie jokes he could remember. Before they went their separate ways they made a pact to "talk to someone not a bartender" about their mutual sense of generalized foreboding. Josie added her strong approval to this and accepted their bar napkin contract for safe keeping.)


	11. Trish

Matt noticed the knocking on the third floor. 

_I know you're in there, Jess. Talk to me._

More knocking. The elevator passed the 4th floor.

_Please? Just hear me out._

The elevator doors opened on 5 and Matt extended his cane, tapping deliberately down the hallway toward Alias Investigations. The woman in front of Jessica's door had fallen silent, shifting sideways and watching his approach. Her voice was familiar from radios all over the city, and the expensive clothing and toiletries were corroboratory. There was something to her poise that was uncommon, perhaps the result of early dance training. This was definitely Trish Walker.

Matt could hear Jessica inside the apartment, sitting on her bed, breathing in abrupt gusts but otherwise holding still, her heartbeat quick and loud. He could hear her fists creak where they were clenched in cloth, probably the comforter on her bed. She was angry and upset but trying to be quiet.

"Hello?" He asked. "Is someone there? I'm looking for Alias Investigations. I believe this is the place?" 

"Oh! Sorry, yes, you have the right place. But no one is available right now. You might want to come back later." There was no recognition in her voice. If she had noticed him at the Harlem precinct, she had forgotten.

"Are you waiting? If Jessica will be back soon, I can wait, too. I'm in no hurry." Matt moved to the other side of the door and settled his cane in front of him, like he was prepared to wait until doomsday.

"Do you have an appointment?" 

There is a certain tone and body language that a special group of people seem to exude: that of the compulsive confider. They are the strangers who will tell you their life story while you are both waiting on line for the metrocard machine or for laundry to dry. They can be delightful while waiting for Shakespeare in the Park tickets, but they are impossible to politely silence when one is otherwise engaged. All reaction is encouragement. Danny was one of these people; Matt did his best to channel that energy.

"Oh no, she's helping me with background on a case and I was in the neighborhood. My schedule opened up and I thought if she had a moment, I could ask her some more questions. I have plenty of time and can wait until she sees you first." 

"Right." She radiated impatience. "Well, she's not here and I don't know when she'll be back. So I'll just be going."

"Oh, in that case I'll go with you. Share an elevator."

"Right, share an elevator." 

"Jessica is a real lifesaver. I dropped the ball on a major case and my partner had to save the whole firm. He's trusting me on this one and I cannot let him down again." 

"How… good of her." The elevator, having only just dropped him off, opened immediately.

The social awkwardness of walking down a narrow hallway making smalltalk with someone that you are not actually with, one of whom has a long cane and just thwarted the other's intent, was only slightly improved by actually sharing the elevator, and only because they were no longer walking. 

"He's going to be angry for a long time, and he's got every right, you know? I hurt him, I hurt our friendship and our livelihood. I have to earn his trust again. I can't expect him to forgive me; I can only try and make it up to him."

"Mm."

"It's not about me, right? That's what I keep reminding myself. I hurt him and forgiveness or not it's not about me. It's about making things right."

The elevator door opened and she shot out of it, hurrying out of the building like she was afraid that he would be going in the same direction and would continue to talk to her. He tapped his way to the door more sedately and listened to her cross at the corner before he turned around to catch the elevator up again.

(Later, Matt brought Foggy a honey bun. When asked what it was for, he said _Royalties_.)


	12. Melvin

Finding a specific inmate by name in the New York Department of Corrections was a straightforward and familiar process. Finding that he was housed in the Tombs was unexpected. Matt looked up the public facing specifics of the case and sat thinking for a long moment. Then he went to talk to Foggy and check something on his next patrol.

Two days later he was added to the approved visitor list and at the next opportunity, he presented himself at the Manhattan Detention Complex to speak with an inmate. 

Melvin was nervous, glancing up at him before flicking his face back down to his hands, the corner of the table, Matt's clasped hands on the table across from him. 

"Hello, Melvin."

"I'm not supposed to know who you are." He fidgeted his fingers together.

"Thank you for keeping my secret. I'm sorry I let you down; I didn't want you back in."

"It's my own fault. I had to keep her safe."

"You did, Melvin. She's okay. I checked up on her. No one knows and Betsy's safe. Misses you, but safe."

"Did you talk to her? What did she say?" Melvin's voice lightened and he sat straighter but Matt had to shake his head.

"I'm sorry; I didn't talk to her. I went to see how she's doing, but she doesn't like me and I didn't want to upset her. She thinks I take advantage of you, and she's right."

"I like to help you. You fight him; you fight bad guys. I like helping you do that!"

"Yeah, you're a good guy Melvin. You don't deserve to be in here."

"I don't like it here, but it's okay if it means Be-, if it means she's safe."

"Fisk is done for, but your case is under review and it's not clear if they will actually revoke your parole."

"Really? But, I did it. 'Do the crime, do the time.'"

"Fisk made you do it; and that matters. Look, I can't take your case; your friend wouldn't like it and I have to stay a secret. But I've asked a friend of mine who is a very, very good lawyer to take your case over from the public defender if you are okay with that. Will you let us help?"

"I can't pay for a very good lawyer. They took my equipment for evidence."

"You don't have to. I owe you, and it's the right thing to do."

"But it's not fair to your friend."

"He's happy to do it, but lawyers are supposed to do some _pro bono_ work and that's how he will cover your case. Let us do this for you, Melvin. It's not right that you're in here." He slid over Foggy's business card and Melvin caught it with the tip of one finger, pulling it over slowly.

"Okay. Thanks." 

(Later, when Matt was working his way through discovery for one of Foggy's cases, Foggy called over from his desk for his attention. _Matt, your friend's whole conviction record is a mess. I see Fisks fingerprints all over this. We do this right, we can get some of this invalidated._)


	13. Confession

Maggie was not impressed; Matt could tell by how crisp her footsteps were against the paving stones. Well, that and her words. 

"I would like to assure you, Father, that this was not my idea." 

"Noted, Sister." Father de la Cruz sounded amused. Maggie turned to Matt with the particular body language that said _I'm watching you_ as effectively as words, before she walked disapprovingly back into the church. "It's not every day I have a clandestine meeting in the garden with the 'devil'."

"I have a… complicated relationship with this church."

"I can imagine. I think this conversation would be easier if I tell you I know who you are. I've been wondering since the funeral when you would come see me." Matt went still. 

"How?"

"Things people said, hints dropped or overheard, things that made more sense once I started paying attention. It was hard to believe but remarkable things are everywhere."

"Will that be a problem?"

"It's really your problem more than mine. I don't think your secret is all that well kept. Even a few of the children have figured it out, although it seems they're guarding that information jealously. They are very protective of you."

"I mean, in your role, does it bother you?"

"Vigilantism and its complex morality? Yes, of course. But I'm told you're a man of deep faith and a conviction to service, even if it's unconventional. From what I've seen that's true. Complexity is hardly a sin, and the sisters are all on your side. To them, you're one of ours. I'm not prepared to throw away their opinion."

"That is… a great deal more tolerant than I expected. Especially since it's against the law."

"I'm not new to this parish; I've performed Spanish and Tagalog language services on behalf of Father Lantom many times. I was here, on the premises, during the Incident. I know the people and Father Lantom and I would talk. To him you were a man before you were a symbol and he thought very highly of Daredevil despite ambivalence from within the archdiocese. I've spoken to the Dean extensively about this assignment, with this parish after everything it's suffered. We know it won't be easy. But the people here have always spoken of Daredevil as their champion and protector, and despite everything they still do. I can't take that away from them without cause."

"I didn't know this."

"Why would you? You're not a parish priest. So, do I pass the interview?"

"Sorry, what?"

"You wanted to see if I'm trustworthy. I don't know why it's come up at this particular time, but I don't blame you, I wouldn't trust just anyone with your secrets, either, and building a relationship with your priest takes time for everyone. But you really should be more careful; a lot of people know."

Matt huffed a small laugh. "It's a work in progress. Uh, so, people have been telling me I need someone to talk to and I have come to agree. I used to talk to Father Lantom." He paused.

"His lattes; he got really good at those." Father de la Cruz prompted gently.

"Yes, and confession. I haven't gone since, well, I haven't gone in a while. I asked Sister Maggie for advice and she's been very helpful, but there are some things...."

"There are some things you can't talk to her about because they're about her?" He suggested. Matt nodded. "I'm not Father Lantom and I don't know you like he did. But I will gladly hear your confession and give you whatever counsel I might have. We can go in now, if you like?"

Matt listened for a long moment before starting to pull the rope from his hands. "There are three people in the nave." Father de la Cruz hummed thoughtfully.

"Discretion is the better part of valor. Let me get you a bag for those and a sweatshirt; I'll be right back."

"Thank you, Father."

(The next day Matt sent Foggy home with an extra cronut for Marci. When asked why, he said _For the referral._ Later that evening, he received a text from Marci that went _thumbs up next time lo cal wedding dress_.)


	14. Elektra

As he was leaving for patrol, Matt found a roll of old hand wrap on the parapet at the edge of his roof. It had the barest breath of perfume ghosting around it. 

He ran. He ran as fast and hard as he could, throwing himself into the air as if willpower could bridge the intolerable distance. As he approached Fogwell's he dropped silently back to street level and tried to preserve what little remained of his stealth as he walked briskly up to the door, turned the unlocked latch, and slipped in.

"Hello Matthew." She was there. Not the silent ghost from the year before, but heartbeat, perfume on her wrists and in the hollow of her throat, scent of her shampoo, and the eyeliner she favored. The weight of her in her shoes, the rasp of cloth as she breathed, and the warmth that radiated from her skin; she filled his senses like the sun. She was really there.

"Elektra!" he gasped, and she was in his arms, holding tight, so tight he wasn't sure he could ever untangle their grip. "Elektra."

"I'm sorry, Matthew. I'm sorry I left you. I didn't know you survived. Nothing would have kept me from you if I had known."

"How? How are you alive?" He finally unbent his arms enough to let her shift back a little. She only let go enough to pull off his mask and smooth her hands over his face. 

"Gao and I awoke surrounded by bones caging us from the worst of the rubble and you were nowhere to be found. We made a truce, worked together to claw a way out. Three days it took us. I was certain you had been crushed."

"They, they say I washed out of a storm drain near the river and was taken to the church the next morning. I was in the suit so they hid me. I don't remember it, just that you were gone. I was so sure you were dead, broken beneath the wreckage." They stood there for a long moment, foreheads pressed together, sharing oxygen, breathing each other in.

"Why now"? He asked. "Where have you been?"

"News of the imposter was slow to find me, and even then it was clearly not you. I was in Cologne and learned purely by chance that you were alive and guarding your city again."

"When Gao and I escaped, our truce was ended and we raced for control of the Hand assets. Their resources are deeply embedded all over the world. I have been harrowing her out of every board room and off-shore account, factory and holding, stripping away every shell corporation to find her and burn her and her remaining people out at the root. I've destroyed every Hand artefact I've encountered and dismantled their apparatus. I've almost won; there's not much left that she controls and we've been wrestling for the Midland Circle site through intermediaries for months as I chase her through Europe. Once I have it all her hope for immortality will be gone; the Hand will finally be destroyed. You and I will be free of them forever."

"Do you still want that? To live forever?" She shook her head.

"I thought I did; I have tasted that future. But there is no spice without risk, no life without death. I will not become a coward grubbing for bones in the dark because I cannot face my end. I looked at death and was afraid, but I refuse to let fear rule me again. Not anymore, I want to know what I am without the Hand, without the Chaste, without the Black Sky. I want to live as the arbiter of my own destiny. That is all."

He sobbed and dropped his head to her shoulder, softening his grip and cradling her against him. She ran her fingers through his hair, scratching lightly at his scalp. 

"Oh Matthew, so concerned for my immortal soul, if even I have one."

"You do, Elektra, I know you do." He lifted his head. "Will you stay?" He asked, wistfully.

"Will you come with me?" She returned knowingly. He sniffed and mustered a smile.

"I imagined you sometimes." He delicately brushed his fingertips down her temple and along the arch of her cheek, the curve of her lips, matching memory to reality in the contours of her face, the texture of her skin. "Something would spark and suddenly I could believe you were walking down the street or sitting at a cafe. Just for a moment, but then it would pass and I was alone again. I'm learning what it means to be myself." He kissed her softly. "I love you Elektra, but no, I will not go with you." She returned the tender press of lips.

"I love you too, Matthew, and no, I will not stay." He nodded and trailed his fingers down her arms as he stepped back but he could not quite bring himself to let go of her hands. "But! I don't have to go just yet," she said with her familiar élan. "Tonight, we'll catch up, tell each other everything, gossip like fishwives. And perhaps one day I'll visit again or you'll come find me in the world. I plan to make a noise, you know. You'll be able to find me."

"I'd like that."

(Later, Foggy said _She's alive? Again? What the hell, Matt! I'm sorry but you are not allowed to take her to the wedding. Unless you really want to. What am I saying, no, no to the wedding._ Matt reassured him that she had already left for London, which she had confirmed with a text from the airport.)


	15. The Nelson Family

Matt's new crown was very distracting. It was smooth as glass and took up more space than the temporary had. He tried to suppress the compulsion to probe at it with his tongue, but the urge was hard to avoid. He poked at it again and took a deep breath. The air off the East River was fresh and briny which dissipated the aroma of Fulton Fish Market a few blocks north. According to everyone, the view was great, but Matt took a moment to enjoy the acoustics. There were weird sounds and echoes drifting across the water from Brooklyn and Governors Island, knocking around the stone and cables of the bridge, and off the fiberglass of the boats and ferries. Nothing corresponded with how sound placed objects within the concrete canyons of the close packed buildings. Distances were warped and if he stopped adjusting for it it was like a ghostly fantastical New York hung suspended over the water, streaked through with the brash doppler effect of the booze cruises.

The immediate sounds of laughter were more compelling, however, and he stopped listening to the water and poking his tooth. Foggy and Marci's engagement party was always going to be rowdy with that many Nelsons in attendance. They had taken a good portion of the patio deck, cordoned off for their private party with a buffet set up on one side and the drinks flowing freely. They had reached that slightly rollicking point of festivities after the official announcements and brief speeches by the parents and happy couple. Marci was trying to introduce Brett to some of her cousins sitting at the next table. The trash talking between he and Foggy was escalating predictably. A brief buzz of feedback and Matt turned his attention to Foggy's younger brother Theo, who had just turned on some sort of amplifier.

"This is gonna be good," Brett murmured to Marci.

"Oh no, that's a portable karaoke machine. He's not going to…?" Karen said, hiccuping a laugh. Thankfully Theo, whose vocal abilities matched Foggy's, did not start singing. Instead, he gave a short but enthusiastic speech in praise of Foggy and Marci that began _Mom always wanted Foggy to be a butcher..._ and ended with a slightly inarticulate plug for Nelson, Murdock, and Page. The assembled Nelsons cheered. Then Theo walked over to Candace and handed her the microphone. She roasted Foggy to great acclaim before she talked about how she looked forward to gaining a sister. 

When the microphone went to Cousin Joe, the Stahl guests started to look at each other and ask what was going on. 

"Do they always do this?" Karen asked Matt. He shook his head, laughing.

"I have no idea. Maybe? They didn't do this at Candace's wedding, but I didn't go to the engagement party."

The speeches got more chaotic and hilariously random as the microphone moved from person to person, slowly making its way across the tables. Every Nelson by blood or marriage over the age of fifteen participated. Uncle Timmy's entire speech was dad jokes. Aunt Jeanie got a loud _aw!_ from everyone when she promised them a cookbook of all her family recipes, and a laugh when she assured them that they were not all from the _Food Network_ site. Foggy leaned into Marci and joked _And all this will be yours._ She laughed and kissed him.

Matt was enjoying himself thoroughly, hearing stories he had forgotten and soaking up that particular Nelson energy that always attended family events. 

"MATT!" Theo lunged at him from the next table. "Matt, it's your turn! C'mon!" 

"What?"

"C'mon, it's a Nelson tradition; everybody in the family has to do it!" 

"But I'm no-!" 

"The more embarrassing the better, but if Mom asks I didn't tell you that!"

For such a skinny fellow Theo was really strong and he tugged at him until he had to stand up. The microphone, warm and slightly sweaty, was thrust into Matt's hand and he stood there, stunned. Karen had dissolved into laughter and was no help at all.

"Uh." He winced at the feedback and Theo pushed the mic closer to his mouth. He took a deep breath and a split second to sober himself and gather his thoughts.

"Uh, so, for those of you who don't know me, I'm the Murdock of Nelson, Murdock, and Page. Take a bow, Page." He gestured to Karen who bobbed in her seat and tried to swallow her giggle. "I've known Foggy since we were assigned roommates freshman year. It was my first time out of Hell's Kitchen and I walked in to him, another Hell's Kitchen kid, cheering over having secured the last seat in Punjabi 1. He did it for a girl." There was a scattering of laughs and Marci gestured broadly at Foggy.

"Little did I know then that this was a fundamental insight into one Foggy Nelson. Boundless enthusiasm, optimism," laughter when he stressed that word, "and work ethic to go with the world class smarts. He got an A in Punjabi." Scattered applause.

"I really don't know where I would be without Foggy. Almost everything I know about friendship and having a family is because of him. I am fundamentally a better, happier person for having him in my life. I haven't always been the friend Foggy deserves, but he has always, absolutely been in my corner." He swallowed and grasped for an anecdote.

"When Foggy and Marci met in con law, you could tell they were striking sparks off each other. I remember the day she walked up to us in the quad and launched into a challenge to something he'd said earlier in class. They hashed it back and forth for over an hour digging up more and more obscure facts and findings to support their positions until they realized they'd come together in the middle and were agreeing. That's when they started dating." Laughter and applause.

"They'd be the first to admit they weren't really ready for each other in law school. But the foundation was there, and now, years later, they still have the sparks. I can't think of any pair more perfect for each other."

"To Marci and Foggy. I am more grateful than you can know for the privilege of being your friend." Matt's voice broke on the last but no one noticed because Foggy had walked over and pulled him into a hug. There was laughter and cheers, and Marci called for more drinks to give the two of them a bit of privacy.

"You jerk, these are supposed to be funny, not make me cry." Foggy snuffled and laughed. 

"Sorry, buddy." Matt sniffed into the napkin Karen handed him. "No one told me there'd be public speaking."

(Later, Karen asked him what he was going to do as an encore for the best man speech. Matt broke out into a cold sweat.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic was brought to you by my need for Matt/Happiness and Matt/Hugs.


End file.
